I sink back in the chair and close my eyes. I got off to a rocky start during the promo tapings this morning, but I studied the script intently all afternoon and even closed Casey’s office door for a while and practiced reading it out loud several times. I really got into the groove when we taped the show that will air tonight. With each compliment from Charlie and other members of the crew (even that cameraman seemed to come around after we broke for lunch—maybe he was just hungry?), I became more confident. And by the end, I was even ad-libbing a little bit, equal parts irritating and surprising Dean, who clearly wasn’t used to on-air banter with Casey.
I found a rhythm, remembering how I used to read the TelePrompTer with so much ease in college that it would get on Casey’s nerves. Reading the Prompter wasn’t her strong suit and I remember how she struggled with it for two semesters before she finally got it down. Now with an Emmy under her belt, it’s hard to believe she ever had to work at it.
And it felt great getting so much praise and positive attention from the staff and crew. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even heard a thank-you from someone in my family.
But even so, as I drive over to my house for dinner, I can’t believe how much I miss them. I felt an ache in my chest when I didn’t hear the baby cry this morning. I even missed having to wake up Audrey. I was so homesick I would’ve welcomed a fight with Sophie over what an appropriate bra for a fourteen-year-old looks like. Not to mention the anxiety that kept me up half the night. What if Casey leaves something small on the ground that Charlotte can choke on? Or what if she doesn’t tighten her car seat straps after she buckles her in? And will she make sure that Sophie isn’t turning into a future member of The Bad Girls Club?
And then there’s John. Dare I say I actually miss him too? Unless he was traveling for work, I rarely went more than a day without seeing him. And there’s a comfort sleeping next to him in the bed each night. Although having Casey’s California king bed all to myself last night wasn’t so bad either.
? ? ?
I open the door to my house and hear the familiar buzz of the family chatter in the kitchen. I fight back the tears as I walk in to discover Audrey and Casey laughing in a way I can’t remember laughing with her. And I’m struck by a horrible thought: Is Casey doing a better job than me? Struggling to find the confidence I had just an hour earlier at GossipTV, I walk into the kitchen and plaster a smile across my face. It doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to be Aunt Casey now.
CHAPTER 9
* * *
casey
I rifle through Rachel’s soft leather satchel to find the checklist I finally printed out because I was referencing it so much. I’d also given Rachel instructions on how to live my life, but mine were verbal and consisted of not much more than the warning, “Just don’t get me fired.” Rachel had taken her instruction list to the next level, even making me practice CPR on one of Charlotte’s dolls. “I’m not an idiot!” I told her, but deep down I did worry that something terrible might happen on my watch.
The weight of being entrusted with the most important people in Rachel’s life is overwhelming. Looking down at the weekly calendar she included in my packet, I find today’s date and see that I have a play date at the park with someone named Hilary and her daughter, Melissa. Okay. I can do this. How hard can a play date be? I wish my life consisted of play dates all day, although I’d prefer to play with a twenty-five-year-old with a baby face, not an actual baby.
The first order of business is getting Charlotte into this damn stroller. I’ve interviewed some of the biggest celebrities, clawed my way up one of the trickiest ladders in the world, yet I can’t figure out how to work the buckles on a baby carriage.
After ten minutes, sweat is running down my back and Charlotte is on the verge of a meltdown, so I give up and decide to carry the baby to the park instead. How hard can it be? I put her on one hip, sling her enormous diaper bag over my shoulder, and start to walk the five blocks that quickly feel like five miles. I have to stop and readjust Charlotte and the damn bag—that weighs more than she does—every few feet. “Do we really need to put your entire house in one bag? Is the kitchen sink going in here too?” I had joked to Rachel.
But she was adamant. “Trust me, Casey. Never leave the house unprepared. It’s the first rule of parenting.”
And for the most part, I listened. But not all the items would fit, so I just made an executive decision on what was really necessary for a trip to the playground and I ditched the rest. I can’t even imagine how heavy it would’ve been if it had everything in it.
I look around for the woman that Casey described. Tall, thin, with long blond hair. I see a woman matching her description and pick up my pace. I’m about to call out to her when I hear Rachel’s name being called from behind me and I turn to see another taller, thinner, blonder woman walking toward me. She’s wearing a beautiful heather gray wrap sweater and matching TOMS flats.
“Where are you going?” She looks at me like I’ve gone crazy. “We always sit over there.” She points to a grassy area by the slide with her perfectly manicured hand.